Unseen
by Ms. Goodfellow
Summary: Life doesn't always go as planned. And in Sabrina Grimm's case, death doesn't always go as planned either. [ON HIATUS]
1. Prologue

**Umm, so this happened.**

 **I just came up with this plot bunny out of the blue a little while ago and I decided I just HAD to make a story out of it.**

 **I haven't written out the entire thing like I did with my current story, but I have it totally planned out and I am just ready to write!**

 **This story is rated T because there will be swearing and such. Sabrina and Puck are 16, Daphne is like 12/13, and for some reason, Red and Canis don't exist in this story. I haven't actually read the series in forever so I've like, completely forgotten about their characters. So just pretend they never existed.**

 **Enjoy!**

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Out of all the ways to die in the world, a lot of them stem from sheer stupidity. Like the girl who thought she could save some time in the morning by blow-drying her hair while in the bath tub. Or maybe, that guy who decided that shooting a firework off of his head would make one hell of a Fourth of July party. And let's not forget the drunk imbecile who thought it would be fun to go swimming, while forgetting he couldn't actually swim. And while those ways to die are quite stupid, I can't help but think the way I died was stupidest.

You see, I was hit by a car. No, the driver wasn't drunk. No, the car wasn't speeding through a red light. No, I wasn't wearing all black in the middle of the road at midnight. The thing that made my death so stupid was that I was hit by a car in broad daylight, wearing normally colored clothing, and standing in the middle of the driveway leading up to my house.

In Granny's defense, she couldn't have known I was about to run behind her car to grab my scarf that had been blown there by a sudden and strong gust of wind. It really was my fault. But damn it, I loved that scarf. I wasn't about to sit around and watch it become blackened with tire residue as Granny's clunker of a car backed over it. In hindsight, letting the scarf get ran over was the smart and safe option, but smart and safe are two things I'm not.

So I go to get my scarf, and before you know it, I'm lying flat on my back against hot concrete. I hear yelling and commotion, likely from the rest of my family watching from the side, but it sounds distant and too far away to matter. I try to turn my head, to see what the screaming is about, but that's when I realized I _couldn't_ move my head. In fact, I couldn't move _anything_.

I don't really remember what happened after that, likely due to the fact that one of Granny's tires had rolled right over my little blonde head, effectively crushing my skull and nearly, but not quite, killing me on the spot. The whole death thing came a few seconds later when the front set of tires, following the rear set, rolled right over my neck this time. And only then, as Granny finally finished backing out, did she realize she had just rolled over and killed her eldest granddaughter.

And that was how I was found dead by my entire family. Skull cracked to reveal just a bit of mushed brain, blood trickling out of my mouth, neck smashed flat, and eyes glazed over with the realization of stupidity. It was definitely not a pretty sight. Luckily, my uncle, Jake, threw a hand over my little sister's eyes before she could get a good look. But that didn't stop her from vomiting up her lunch on the spot, which happened to be right over my torso. So then, not only was my dead body covered in tire grease and blood, but also half-digested grilled cheese and tomato soup.

I realize this is totally morbid and a little gross to hear about, but at least you didn't have to live it (no pun intended). And I didn't really die, believe it or not. Well, scratch that. I did die. I'm very, very dead. But while I don't believe in ghosts, or consider myself as a ghost, I did come back. No, not as a reincarnation or a white entity floating through the halls of my house. I'm just here. Nobody can see me or hear me or smell me. But I can see them and hear them and smell them. I can also see myself. If I look down, I can see my entire body, which looks exactly the same as it did when I was backed over, except minus the blood, crushed neck, and cracked skull.

I don't really know what's happening. I only died two hours ago. I'm not sure why I'm still here and not in an afterlife of any sort. But right now, I'm standing in a small, cramped room inside of a hospital. My family is here, and they were just told I was officially, and irreversibly, dead. And this is where our story begins.

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 **So tell me what you think so far! Do you want more? It's kind of just a little prologue, I know, but does it _intrigue_ you?**

 **Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	2. One

"What do you mean there was nothing you could do?! This is a goddamn hospital!" shouted Uncle Jake, knocking over his chair as he jumped to his feet.

"Calm down, Jake, please," Granny said quietly, a picture of heartbrokenness with her watery eyes and deep crease in her eyebrows.

Jake turned to his mother. "Don't tell me to calm down! My niece is dead because of you!"

"That's enough, Mr. Grimm," said the doctor from his desk, giving him a stern glance. Jake threw his hands in the air and let out a roar of anger as he stormed from the room.

I watched the whole thing silently, partially because nobody would hear me if I spoke anyways. I looked at Granny, who had began crying silently into her wrinkly hands. I found myself getting angry at Uncle Jake. Granny didn't kill me. I killed me.

I left my spot in the corner and walked towards where Granny was seated. I was hoping she would look up and see me as I stopped directly in front of her, but my hope was crushed as she lowered her hands from her eyes and stared right through me at the doctor across from her.

I let out a frustrated sigh and decided to try someone else. I left Granny and went to the small bench towards the back of the room. There sat Daphne, my sweet, young sister who I loved so much. She had to see me. I would make her.

I knelt down in front of Daphne, staring directly into her eyes, which were staring fixedly at a small stain in the carpet. "Daphne?" I whispered. Nothing. I waved my hand in front of her face. Not even a flinch. Maybe if I tried touching her? I hadn't tried to touch anybody yet. Maybe she would feel it! I reached my hand up to grab her shoulder. To my surprise, it didn't do what I expected it to, which was fall right through her body as if I were a hologram. Instead, it sat there, on her shoulder. The only problem, was that she obviously couldn't feel me. She didn't move a muscle as she continued her staring.

I stood up, my hand still resting on her shoulder. I suddenly realized something: not only could she not feel me, but I couldn't feel her. Sure, my hand was visibly (to me, at least) gripping her shoulder, but I couldn't actually _feel_ her shoulder. I tried giving her shoulder a small shove. My hand appeared to smack into her shoulder, but I didn't feel it and her shoulder remained perfectly still. I lifted my hand and held it up to my face. It looked perfectly intact and alive to me.

And then, to once again prove my stupidity, I reared back my hand and slapped myself in the face. "Ow!" I cried, pressing my other hand to my cheek in an attempt to stop the stinging. Alright, so I couldn't feel other people, but I could _definitely_ feel myself.

I let out an angry growl as I moved away from Daphne. Why couldn't anybody see me? I was right there! It didn't make any sense.

I walked angrily back to the corner of the room, stomping my feet childishly. I rested my back against the wall and sank down to the ground until I was sitting, feeling slightly grateful I could at least feel the solidity of the wall behind me. I felt tears prick my eyes and lifted my hand to wipe them away angrily, only to realize there was no wetness. I felt tears in my eyes; I could feel them stinging from behind my eyelids. But there was no actual liquid in my eyes.

Curiously, I opened my mouth and stuck in my finger, giving a small gasp as my finger was met with dryness. No spit either. My tongue wasn't necessarily dried up, but there wasn't really any liquid pooling anywhere. You know how when you let a glob of paint or glue dry partially, but only so there is a layer of "skin" over the liquid itself? And you can gently press on the "skin" and feel that it's not _dry_ , but rather, for lack of a better word, _encapsulated_? Well, that's how my tongue felt.

I closed my mouth and leaned my head against the wall. It seemed I had no fluid in my body. So I definitely wasn't alive. I closed my eyes, confused as to what was going on. Why was I still able to be _here_ with the living when I was dead? I knew I was dead for sure. I watched as paramedics picked up my lifeless body from the driveway, my head lolling around inhumanly, as if my neck was a spaghetti noodle (I actually found it quite entertaining to watch, but I don't think anyone else thought so).

I opened my eyes and looked around the room. The doctor was talking calmly to my family, all in various stages of disbelief and shock. It was upsetting to watch them discuss me (or my body, at least) and what to do with me. Obviously, there was no real option of an open-casket funeral (unless their plan was to make people throw up), but there was still the debate between cremation or burial. They had to decide quickly, due to the fact that my body was disgustingly mangled and leaking various fluids, leaving no time to let my corpse sit around for a while while they thought about it.

I felt a strange sense of unfairness. It was MY body. How come I didn't get to decide what to do to it? I imagined them stuffing me into a box, the vomit and blood on my body staining the satin lining of the coffin. I cringed inwardly. There was no way I was letting that happen.

Despite the inevitable futility of it, I decided to tell them what I wanted. "I WANT A CREMATION!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "DON'T PUT ME IN A FUCKING BOX!"

As I expected, nobody turned around. Nobody had heard me. I clenched my fists angrily. "CAN'T YOU HEAR ME?" I yelled. "I. DON'T. WANT. A. BURIAL."

Suddenly, I saw the slightest, but still visible, shift of the head. Unbelievingly, I watched as Puck Goodfellow, who had been sitting silently in a chair off to the side, turned his head and stared at the corner where I was sitting. His brows were furrowed as his eyes scanned the area. I sat there in complete shock. Did he hear me? But even more importantly, could he see me?

I scrambled to my feet and began waving my arms and hands. "Puck!" I shouted. "Can you see me?!"

My hands fell back to my sides as he blinked and turned his head back around, no sign of recognition or that he had heard me at all. I felt the fake tears prick my eyes again. It must've just been a coincidence. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up.

I sat back down defeatedly. I looked at my body, clad in the clothes I had died in, and wondered what was happening to me. "Is this a dream?" I wondered aloud, pinching my arm. But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't a dream. I was stuck in some strange half-life and now my arm hurt where I had pinched it.

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard a new voice enter the conversation taking place in the room. They were still talking about plans for my body, but I hadn't been listening until this different voice chimed in.

"I think she would want a cremation."

Everyone in the room went quiet as they all glanced at Puck. "What did you say, Liebling?" asked Granny, her eyes rimmed with red.

Puck looked around, suddenly seeming embarrassed. "I don't know. I just, think she would want to be cremated," he mumbled.

Granny watched him for a few seconds before turning back to face the doctor. "I suppose we will go with cremation, then."

Granny and the doctor continued talking, but I stopped listening. Instead, I was staring at Puck, my mind racing. First the staring, now this? It was obvious he hadn't actually _heard_ me or _seen_ me. But why would he say I wanted a cremation? It's not like I had discussed death with him, or with anyone for that matter. So why did he say that?

I stood up once more and crossed the room to where Puck was sitting. I leaned down in front of him and stared into his eyes. I stayed like that for a few minutes, bent over and staring into his eyes, trying to will him to see me. But his face remained blank as he stared not at me, but through me, just as Granny had. I reached out a finger and tried poking his cheek. Same as with Daphne, I could see my finger on his cheek, but it made no indent and merely rested there. He didn't even blink an eye.

I straightened back up and put my hands on my hips, frustrated. It couldn't have been a coincidence. But then again, maybe it had been. Maybe he was also disgusted by the idea of my body being trapped in a box underground, to be decomposed by insects and bacteria over the years. Either way, I was glad he had spoken up.

I jumped, startled as Puck stood abruptly from his chair. I looked around to try and see why, and realized my family was leaving. Granny was packing up her bag, a sure sign that the Grimms were on their way out. I walked over to the door, desperate to get out of the cramped room of sadness.

I reached out and put my hand on the door handle, relieved I could feel it under my fingers. I pushed down on the handle, expecting the door to swing open. Nothing happened. I looked down at my hand, still on the handle. I tried to push the handle down, but it didn't budge. Sure, I could feel the handle perfectly. But for some reason, I could not move it. It appeared that I had absolutely no _force_ in my body. I'm not sure if that's the best way to explain it, but in short, I could not move anything with my body. Everything I thought I knew about Newton's Laws of Motion was thrown out the window.

I stood off to the side and contemplated how I was going to get out of here. I guessed I just would have to wait for someone to open the door so I could walk out. I waited patiently as my family began walking towards the door, but I got distracted by Puck. He was looking at the corner again, the one I had been sitting in when he first looked over there. I watched him intently, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. He gave his head a slight shake and turned it around as he pushed open the door and left.

In my intense state of watching, I didn't even notice that everybody had left and shut the door behind them, minus the doctor still seated behind his desk. I gave out a groan. It didn't appear the doctor would be leaving anytime soon. I shuffled my feet until I was standing a foot away from the closed door. Maybe I could walk through it. I stepped forward and leaned my shoulder against the wood. Nothing happened.

I stepped back again and furrowed my brow. Could I really not walk through doors? Or push them open like a normal human being (not that I was a normal human being anymore)? I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. I will get through this door. This door will let me through.

With a battle cry that rivaled a Spartans', I ran towards the door, bracing myself for the likely event of a crash. To my surprise, I kept running. Long after I would have reached the door. I opened my eyes to find myself running through the middle of the hospital's waiting room. I stopped and turned around, apprehensively eyeing the heavy door I had apparently just ran through. I guess that was the secret. To will yourself through doors. I smirked and swaggered out of the waiting room. "Damn, I'm smart," I said aloud. Nobody heard me, but whatever.

After a slight mishap with the automatic sliding doors (I forgot that you had to be an _actual solid being_ for them to register you), I found myself in the parking lot. I looked around for the family car (you know, the one that ran me over), but I didn't see it. It clicked in my brain as I watched a taxi slowly turn out of the parking lot and take off down the road.

"Wait!" I cried out, jogging after the car. "Wait for me!" I may have forgotten that: a. I couldn't be seen, and b. I couldn't be heard.

As the taxi cab disappeared down the road, I realized I had a long walk ahead of me. But hey, at least I didn't have to worry about being kidnapped from the side of the road anymore.

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 **Sooo maybe not the most action-packed chapter but we gotta establish a plot people!**

 **Tell me what you think! I'm still on the fence a bit about this story, so if you like it (or don't like it) please tell me!**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	3. Two

After about an hour of walking, I was finally back home. And, much to my dismay, being dead does not magically make you in shape. I was huffing and puffing by the time I willed myself through the front door, my hand wiping imaginary sweat from my brow. My mind went back to a fact I had learned in school, which stated that if your body could not sweat, you would overheat and die. I guess it was a good thing I was already dead.

I walked into the living room and was surprised to find it empty. If there was one room in the Grimm house that was never empty, it was the living room. Except for maybe during the wee hours of the night, there was always somebody watching TV, or relaxing on the loveseat, or knitting (well, that's just Granny). But regardless of who was doing what, there was always somebody in the living room.

I sat down on the couch, marvelling at the irony that I, a dead girl, was the only person in the _living_ room. I get that I might sound a little strange at how much emphasis I've put on this dumb living room, but what you must understand that an empty living room means something bad has happened. I rolled my eyes at myself. _Obviously_ something bad has happened. Of all people, I should've known that.

I sat on the couch for a few more minutes before quickly becoming bored. I thought of turning the TV on, despite the fact that it might confuse the family, but the idea was futile anyways due to the fact I couldn't even hold a remote. I stood up from the couch, noticing with strange fascination that my butt hadn't even left a butt print in the plush seat. I meandered through the ground floor of the house, looking for somebody, anybody, really.

Once I realized that downstairs was completely devoid of life, I decided to head up to my room. My door was open, so I didn't have to "magic" myself inside. I walked in but then stopped when I realized I wasn't alone.

Puck was standing forlornly in the middle of my room, staring at a picture on my wall. I half-expected him to suddenly notice me and hurry embarrassedly from the room, but of course, it didn't happen. The whole "invisible" thing would take some getting used to.

I contemplated leaving, but my stubbornness (and curiosity) got the better of me. This was _my_ room, after all. Dead or not, it still belonged to me.

I walked slowly over to where Puck was standing, watching his face for any sign of acknowledgement towards my presence. When nothing came, I sighed and turned my head to look at the picture he was staring at. It was a picture of me and Daphne from last Fourth of July. Our smiles were wide as we held up our sparklers in our lame matching flag shirts Granny had bought for us. It wasn't the best picture (not many pictures taken at night end up the best, really) but I loved it anyways.

Suddenly overcome with sadness, I left the room hastily. I stood in the hallway, my knuckles white as I clenched my fists. There would be no more Fourth of July parties for me. There would be no more holding up sparklers. There would be no more pictures with Daphne. I would never experience life ever again.

As my anger swelled, I hardly noticed Puck leave my room and head towards his. But his heavy footfalls distracted me from my anger for the time being, so I decided to follow him. In the room at the hospital, I could've sworn Puck noticed me. Well, maybe not me, but my presence, somewhat. I was determined to make him notice me again.

Thankfully, I managed to slip into his room before he shut the door. The whole "going through doors" thing freaked me out a bit, admittedly. I followed Puck to his trampoline, which was still there even after all it's years of use. We bought him a real bed a while back, but he had always preferred his old, gross trampoline.

Puck climbed on to the trampoline and sat in the center, staring at his hands. I watched silently, expecting him to burst into tears or something. But no. He just stared at his hands. I found myself becoming agitated. Stupid jerk wouldn't even cry over me.

"HEY, ASSHOLE," I shouted. I waited, seeing if he would look up in my direction. His head didn't move one bit.

"DOGFACE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? LOOK UP IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!" I tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

I decided I needed to be closer. I climbed gingerly on to the trampoline, once again in awe at how my body left no indents. I tried jumping, to see if I bounced, but the trampoline stayed motionless where I landed.

I went over to where Puck was sitting and sat down in front of him, our faces no more than 6 inches apart. Normally, I would've felt very, very awkward, but it's not like he could see me. I stared at a rather large pimple on the side of his nose as I thought of what to do next. Finally, I decided just good old-fashioned screaming would do the trick.

I leaned in until my mouth was directly next to his ear. I took a deep breath before letting out a very loud and very shrill shriek, straight into his ear canal.

If I still had a heart, it would've pounded out of my chest as Puck turned his head towards mine. He was looking straight at me. Well, through me, but still in my direction. His eyes darted around; he was confused. Obviously, my scream hadn't been very loud in his ear, but he had still heard _something._

So he was somewhat acknowledging my presence. I decided to try and see if he could possibly understand me. I mean, after all, he had said the thing about cremations.

His head was still turned in my direction, so I leaned my head to the side of his head that wasn't facing me.

"CAN YOU HEAR ME?" I shouted into his ear. His head remained still and unmoving.

"PUCK? IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, RAISE YOUR HAND," I shouted again. Still nothing.

I decided to try the screaming-at-the-top-of-my-lungs approach again. I put my mouth next to his ear and let out a blood-curdling shriek. I watched hopefully, sure that it would work. But nothing happened.

Dejectedly, I got off the trampoline and made the decision to go back to my room. He had heard _something._ But it wasn't like he knew I was there. I was still just a lone entity.

On my way back to my room, I heard commotion from downstairs. I passed my room and jogged down the stairs, both curious and alarmed.

I entered the kitchen and found Granny seated at the counter and Uncle Jake standing with his arms crossed a few feet away. At first, I thought the yelling I heard was a fight happening between Jake and Granny. But then I noticed the phone in Granny's hand.

"Our baby girl, Mom. Our baby girl is dead! How could you let this happen?" came the easily recognizable (and angry) voice of no other than Henry Grimm. My dad.

"I didn't know she was there, Henry. How could I have known?" Granny replied through tears, her hand clutching her chest. Jake stood silently.

"That was my _daughter_ you ran over today. My daughter! You killed my daughter!" my dad yelled through the phone's speaker. "It hasn't even registered to Veronica yet. She's just sitting in the bedroom watching TV. I don't think you understand, Mom. Try to imagine sitting at work and then receiving a call out of nowhere claiming your daughter is dead? At the hands of my own mother?"

Jake took a step forward. "Henry, Mom didn't murder Sabrina. It was an accident. So quit being a bastard, because right now, we need to stick together!" he said angrily.

"To hell with you, Jake. I'm sure you just sit by and let my daughter die!"

"NOBODY LET YOUR DAUGHTER DIE. SHE DIED ACCIDENTALLY," roared Jake.

I waited for my father's response, but an audible click signaled he had hung up. Granny was sobbing into her hands.

I ran from the kitchen, unable to watch any longer. I knew my dad didn't really think Granny had murdered me. I knew he was just angry that he couldn't stop it. The truth of the whole situation hadn't completely dawned on anybody yet. Everyone was still in shock.

I ran all the way to my room, my body colliding into the door. I wasn't hurt; I didn't actually feel the collision, but I was surprised. Somebody had shut the door. I willed myself through the door, relieved to see that nobody was inside.

I laid down on my bed, wishing I could feel the soft pillows smushed against my cheek and the fuzzy blanket underneath me. But my bed remained physically undisturbed. I looked around my room, adorned with pictures and memorabilia I'd collected throughout my 16 years. None of it mattered anymore. The NYU pennant I'd gotten from my school's job fair after realizing it was my dream college. The collection of seashells I'd been slowly gathering from various beach trips. The calendar tacked on the wall with all the various activities I would've attended.

I would never go to New York University. I would never collect another seashell again. I would never be able to attend any of the events on my calendar. I didn't have a future anymore.

I sat up, pressing my fingers to my temples. My mind was so confused and jumbled. "What is _happening_ to me?" I shouted. "Why am I still _here_?"

Nobody responded to me, but that was expected. I looked at the clock on my wall. 12:15 at night. Gee, time flies when you're dead.

I laid back down on my bed and closed my eyes. I laid there for a good 30 minutes, waiting for sleep to overcome me. With a groan, I opened my eyes. Dead people can't sleep? Was this some kind of cruel joke, Universe? What else can't I do? I thought about it hard. I didn't have to eat (not like I could pick up food anyways). I didn't have to use the bathroom. I didn't have to shower or brush my teeth. Every basic human function was now pointless and impossible to me.

I never realized death would be this boring.

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 **Hmm, not sure how I feel about this chapter. But I couldn't put off posting it much longer, so here it is! Just keep in mind that I'm still developing the plot, so bear with me. The chapters will get longer!**

 **Tell me what you think! I love hearing your opinions!**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	4. Three

Being a teenager, there have definitely been times when I've stayed up _literally_ all night. Last-minute essays to be written, all-nighters with my friends, and once just because I was so caught up in re-watching the second season of Game of Thrones. Those few times that I was awake until the sun began streaming through the blinds went by pretty quickly. When you're so preoccupied with doing something, whether it be fun or tedious, time truly does fly.

Unfortunately for me, this was not one of those times. Earlier in the day, I thought that the clock seemed to go even faster now that I was dead. But all that was thrown out the window when I realized I couldn't sleep. Not only could I not sleep, but I couldn't do anything to entertain myself. Everything I tried to touch or pick up didn't respond to my hand. When I was still living, I had often said the phrase "I'm bored". But none of those times could compare to being dead and very much awake while everybody around you is asleep and there's absolutely NOTHING to entertain yourself with.

I must admit, I'm quite a trooper. It was 4:30 in the morning, and I'd made it that far by re-reading the same page of a random magazine I'd find lying open on my desk. I knew the whole article by heart at that point. If anyone had asked me if I could give them 50 Sex Tricks that will Blow His Mind, I would've definitely been able to help.

I didn't really know what my plan was for when everybody woke up. I didn't even know what my plan was for the rest of my (ghost)life. All I knew was that I would have to have a source of entertainment soon or else I'd go crazy. It was a Sunday morning, which meant everyone would be sleeping in. I still had a good five hours to go until Granny woke up, and then probably another two before everyone else followed.

I stood up from my bed and began pacing the room quietly. If this was how boring the very first night of being dead was, I didn't even want to imagine how boring the next few weeks would get. If I was even still around for a few weeks. For all I knew, I could disappear from Earth any second. And who knows where I'd be going next.

"This is dumb," I whispered to myself. Great. I'd only been dead for a few hours and I was already resorting to talking to myself for the sake of sanity.

"Why am I whispering?" I whispered again. "Nobody can hear me anyways."

"Noooooooobody can hear meeee!" I sing-songed, my voice rising a few octaves. "I'm utterly and completely aloneeeeee!"

I stopped pacing, standing silently in the middle of my room. For some reason, I was expecting a response. Maybe a nightgown-clad Daphne showing up sleepily at my door to ask my what the heck I was doing singing at 4:30 in the morning. Or possibly a distant, muffled "Shut up!" from Puck.

Expectedly, I got no response whatsoever. But that didn't stop me from trying.

"Heeeeeeeyyy everybody!" I shouted, willing myself through my bedroom door. "It's _showtime_!"

I realize this might seem like a pointless and dumb idea, but I was bored out of my mind and craving human attention. And while singing and dancing in the hallway during the early hours of the morning was probably not the most effective way of doing things, it was pretty damn fun.

" _Heyyyyyyyyyy Daphne. Can you hear meeee? I'm your dead older sister talking from her grave! Don't worry I'm not gonna haunt youuu_!" I sang loudly, karate-chopping the air in front of my little sister's door.

" _Daphnneeeee! Come see my karate moves! I'm actually better than I expecteddd!_ " I swung my arm around my head wildly. For the record, I have never done nor been interested in karate, but let me tell you: my moves were freaking killer. If there was ever a time to be dead, it was definitely to practice karate. I guess being dead makes you flexible.

"I'm about to do a cartwheel," I said blatantly to myself. I had never done a cartwheel in my life. But there's a first for everything, right?

I thrust my hands towards the ground and threw my legs up in my half-assed attempt to cartwheel down the hall. Ultimately, this did not result in an actual cartwheel. However, this did result in a guttural scream emitting from my body as my legs somehow collided with my head on my way down. I guess gravity still applies to the deceased.

I laid silently on the floor, my body a crumpled mess. I guess I'd gotten a little too over-excited. But sometimes, you just have to try and cartwheel. It happens to the best of us.

Now, if I could've peed my pants, I probably would have. Because out of nowhere, Puck suddenly burst through his door wielding a baseball bat and a look of terror across his face.

"What the hell?!" I shrieked, scrambling up to my feet. He had no idea I was there, but it's easy to forget you're invisible when you're scared half to death.

His head whipped wildly from side to side, his bat clenched in his hands. I felt myself relax a bit as I remembered he couldn't actually see me, and could not hit me with said bat.

Why was he out here? And why did he look like he had just witnessed a murder? I mean, he did technically witness a murder of sorts earlier, but I didn't think that was the cause of his current distress.

I inched up slowly to where he stood. He had dropped his hands, the bat hanging loosely at his side. His look of terror had been replaced by a look of confusion. His head still went back and forth, looking for something that wasn't there.

Was it possible he had heard my scream as I had fell? No, it couldn't be. There was no way he had heard that all the way from the middle of the hallway. And even if he had, it must've sounded loud to him. Loud enough for him to get scared that there was something/someone in the hallway that might need to be hit with a baseball bat.

I watched as he gave one last final look towards where I had fallen. He gave his head a little shake before turning back into his room and shutting the door quietly. He was lucky he hadn't woken anyone up with his little outburst.

I contemplated following him, but decided against it. Who knows what Puck did when he was alone in the wee hours of the morning. Whatever it was, I wasn't about to witness it.

Deciding against returning to my boring old room, I headed downstairs into the kitchen. It was still very early in the morning, so there wasn't much to be doing (not that there was much to be doing anyways), but at least it was new scenery.

I glanced over at an apple sitting on the counter. For no real reason at all, I had an inexplicable urge to try and move that apple. I had already tried moving things to no avail, but for some reason, this apple really spoke to me. In hindsight, I was probably just going crazy due to boredom.

I walked over to that dumb apple and put my hand on it. Nothing happened, as expected. But hey, I was realllyyyy bored. So, guess what I did for the next _3 hours_? I tried moving that apple. And it wasn't moving. And I was very, very frustrated.

It was pretty clear the apple wasn't going to move. In fact, that had become clear to me about 30 seconds in. But for some reason, I felt the need to spend a total 3 hours on trying to move it. It had to mean something. Some sort of sign. Or maybe I was just going nutso.

But then, right as I was about to give up, something happened. It was 7:30, and Granny was coming into the kitchen to make breakfast. She swung the kitchen door open, which pretty much scared the shit out of me. So much so that my hand, which had been resting on the apple, somehow succeeded in actually _pushing the apple off of the counter._ Yep. I actually managed to move the apple. It wasn't even on purpose, either. Granny startled me, and I hit the apple off the counter.

As I sat there, staring in shock at the apple, Granny began cooking breakfast. She obviously hadn't noticed the apple falling, but then again, she was like, 80 years old. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the whole house. It also filled the balloon of jealousy that resided in my heart. How unfair was it that I could still smell and want to eat delicious food, but not be able to?

Slowly but surely, the family began migrating to the kitchen table for their breakfast. As always, Puck was the last to get there. As I watched everyone get situated, I suddenly felt a wave of sadness. That was my family. I wanted to be sitting there with them. I wanted the somber faces to be gone. I wanted to be alive again.

Screw it. I was still a part of the family, dead or alive.

I walked up to the table and sat in the chair usually reserved for me. I noticed how as everybody began eating, they occasionally glanced to where I was sitting. To them, it was an empty chair, a reminder of me. But to me, it felt like I actually was there. They were looking at me. Well, they weren't looking at me, but I wanted to pretend like they were.

As my family began eating their breakfast in silence, I kept a watchful eye on Puck. He seemed distraught. Well, everybody seemed distraught, but Puck especially. He kept glancing at my chair for second before turning his head away quickly again. God, he was such a weirdo.

I sat at the table for a few more minutes before I decided that sitting there watching sad people eat was boring. I got up with a sigh and began heading to the door, but then I heard Puck's voice.

I turned around quickly, curious as to what he was saying.

"Daphne," he started. "Please do not make so much noise at night. People are trying to sleep in this house."

Daphne looked up from her bowl of oatmeal with eyes that had been watery all morning. "I never made any noise. I was asleep."

Puck stared at her. "I heard noise in the hall. You're the only one who has a room in the hall."

"Sabrina has a room in the hall, too," whispered Daphne.

Puck suddenly looked angry. "Well, newsflash: Sabrina's dead! So it couldn't have been Sabrina, stupid!"

Daphne's lips started to quiver and the tears that had been in her eyes all morning began to spill out. She jumped out of her seat and bolted out the door. I contemplated following her, but what use would it have been? It's not like I could comfort her.

As I turned my head to glare at Puck, I realized I was not alone in my actions. If looks could kill, Jake would have murdered Puck there on the spot. Puck had his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to look at anyone.

"Why would you say that to her?" said Granny, her hand clutched to her throat in shock.

"I don't know. I'm done with breakfast." Puck stood abruptly, knocking his bowl to the ground and causing oatmeal to spill out slowly across the floor. He grit his teeth as he stared at the mess before storming out the door. This time, I decided to follow.

I left behind the now-crying Granny and the ever-so-furious Jake and followed Puck up to his room. He nearly slammed his door literally _into me_ , but luckily, I managed to slip in before it shut. With his clenched fists and his wild eyes, he was beginning to scare me a little. I mean, I had no reason to be scared, but I'd never seen him like that before.

As he paced his room furiously, I began thinking back to what he had said at the table. He told Daphne that he had heard a lot of noise in the hall. Could he have meant me? It would explain why he bust through his door with a baseball bat at 4 in the morning. But there was no way he could've heard me. He could barely hear me when I screamed right in his ear, let alone in the hallway outside his room.

My thoughts were broken when I suddenly heard yelling. I looked over at Puck, expecting him to be fighting with Jake or something. But he was alone. He was yelling to himself. I stepped closer to him, keening my ears to make out what he was saying.

"WHY?" he shouted. "WHY HER?"

I put my hand to my mouth. Was he talking about me? He had to be. But what did he mean "why her"?

"I WASN'T READY."

He wasn't ready for what? My death? Well, I guess that made two of us.

"IT'S NOT FAIR."

I nodded my head in agreement. It wasn't fair. He was right. But why did he care so much? I know we were sort of family, but he had never acted like he cared a bit about me. I mean, this was no love confession, but he was obviously going through some crazy shit in his head.

I watched him pace for a long time. It was quite depressing to watch, I must admit. He kept lifting his head up to the ceiling, and I think it was to try and hold tears back in his eyes. Puck crying was not something I was used to seeing. He had yet to cry for real, but the quivering chin and continuous efforts to hold back the tears told me it would probably happen in the very near future.

"Don't cry, stupid. You're not a stupid baby. God, stop crying!" he was muttering to himself. I shifted uncomfortably. I wasn't really sure why I was still there. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Scratch that-it _was_ an invasion of privacy.

I backed towards the door slowly, unsure of why I couldn't take my eyes off Puck. He was crying now; not hard, but there were definitely tears there. He was crying over me. I was his arch-enemy and yet, he was crying over me. Suddenly overcome with overwhelming awkwardness, I turned and bolted from the room, not giving a second thought as I glided through the door.

What I missed was Puck's head turning towards where I had just been, the look on his face suggesting he just might have known I was there with him.

* * *

 **Hello everyone! Happy Monday!**

 **So, just a quick little note, if you've been to my profile recently or anything, you might have noticed I took off all the information regarding the names of my husband and my daughters. I've also been trying to go through and take a lot of personal info that I might have accidentally given in AN's and such in my other stories. The reason for this is because, although this was not done with malice or anything, somebody from this website did happen to somehow find me on my personal Facebook that has all my photos and information on where I live and such. This person was not trying to cause harm or anything, but it was a bit strange to know that a complete stranger managed to find me on Facebook and proceeded to tell me that it was "such hard work but they did it"! This just goes to show you can't really put out a lot of information on the internet and not have consequence. I used to have a fake last name on here (Stock), but that was fake and this person made sure to tell me I didn't fool them (really? come on). So please, even if it may seem like you know me because I post about my personal life, you are a stranger to me and I am a stranger to you. Just keep that in mind. I'm not mad, it's just scary.**

 **Sorry for that long, heavy little speech, but just please do not try and find me and my children and our personal info because it's just kind of weird. I hope this doesn't offend anybody, it just freaked me out a bit.**

 **Anyways, please review! Thanks for reading!**


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